


take this away, don't leave me behind

by maridoll



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, the gritty superhero au i occasionally obsess over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:59:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maridoll/pseuds/maridoll
Summary: Ace was the one with the superpower. Out of the both of them, he was the hero.Sabo wasn’t supposed to be anything but ordinary.





	take this away, don't leave me behind

**Author's Note:**

> this tone is unusual, and very choppy? they both work together. 
> 
> all the scenes are pretty mixed around the timeline. things don't go in chronological order until the second half.
> 
> anyway it was either superheroes or an au in which ace and boa were twins for plot purposes so.. you're welcome? unless that's not as bad an idea as i think.

Ace was the one with the superpower. Out of the both of them, he was the hero.

 

Sabo wasn’t supposed to be anything but ordinary.

  
  


Their flat had been a pit of destruction for a while now. He couldn’t gauge the time, everything had happened so fast. They hadn’t been after him, had barely even noticed him. Darkness swept in, devouring walls and spewing them out into rubble. Ace had immediately acted, bringing forth fire and pushing Sabo away from the mass. Everything had went completely dark soon after that.

 

He wished it were still dark.

 

Flames coated absolutely everything. His breathing was shallow, throat long since torn by smoke inhalation. Shadows bounced off the walls that were still intact, voices carrying over to him, but warped by the roaring of the fire, and perhaps by his own turmoil-ridden mind as well. 

 

He was pinned by some of the rubble, lower half still with feeling, but not enough strength to shuffle out. His panicked tears had long since dried out, the heat too unbearable to sustain them. Overhead, support beams crackled and groaned, and he can barely tip his head up before one of them comes loose and crashes to the ground, the edge catching the rubble on top of him and setting it ablaze.

 

He cries out in panic, trying desperately again to wiggle around despite knowing it wouldn’t work. The fire catches and travels fast, and then he’s shouting again, his legs and back burning, everything aching-

 

It dies out with a shout of his name, extinguished at the same time he catches sight of bare soles hurrying towards him. The flames dance around Ace’s form as he calls them and then flicks them out of existence, until a smoldering heap is on top of Sabo, and Ace wastes no time in throwing it off, in picking Sabo up off the ground and shuffling a few steps further into the room.

 

Sabo’s breathing heavily now, on the verge of crying again, leaning against Ace’s side. He can’t make out the extent of the other’s injuries, but they both collapse soon, so he guesses it was pretty bad. 

 

Ace holds Sabo’s face in both hands, looks at him with a whirl of emotions flickering in grey orbs as he tells him everything was going to be fine, that he was going to get Sabo out. He barely croaks out a noise to acknowledge that he’d heard Ace when a sound like a large gale of wind cuts into him, and everything blurs.

 

When he comes to again, they’re at the edge of the house, near the back, and Ace is panting heavily, blood coating the side of his face. A noise must’ve left Sabo, because he looks down and tries to smile, only a grimace forming. “I’ll always be here, Sabo,” he tells him.

 

He doesn’t know what to make of the words, brain trying to process everything at once. But he doesn’t miss it when Ace leans over, inches away from his face, and whispers that he loves him.

 

The flames consume everything. Sabo no longer sees.

 

He does notice, though, how they no longer seem to burn.

 

\--

 

He jerks left, wincing at the strain it puts on his untrained body, and continues to pelt after the figure. They were probably still a half block distance apart, and by the sound of his labored breathing, he didn’t think he’d be catching up.

 

_ Turn ahead, on the right.  _

 

“Wha-Why?!” He bursts out, head swiveling in the direction to see a path between buildings. “That’s kinda not the direction they’re going in.”

 

_ I know where they’re headed. We can cut them off. _

 

With a huff Sabo darts for the space, acknowledging he could use a shortcut if he couldn’t outright win the chase. 

 

The criminal wasn’t anything special, just a thief. A robber. But the added arson staged in the crime had brought him in, quickly diffusing the situation before giving chase, leaving behind a scorched store and a forlorn employee, the few minutes until closing stretched now over the course of the night to deal with the damage.

 

He wished, in these instances, he was allowed to give speeches, or speak at all.

 

_ It’s the old mailing station a few streets down, the one that was on the news last year when the maze of tunnels underneath was revealed. _

 

“And you’re sure?”

 

_ Pretty popular place if you want to get lost fast. It’s been used countless times before. _

 

He rolls his eyes. “Well, sorry I’m not as clued in.”

 

_ That’s what I’m here for. Turn right. _

 

His feet carry him diagonally, having been to their destination numerous times over his life before it had shut down, a new location opened more towards the center of the city, where the bustle had gathered. He arrives, skidding and just managing to not topple over right outside the front, and watches as their target rounds a corner and heads for the same building.

 

_ Hide. Release some fireflies. _

 

“Okay,” he mutters, darting to a collection of rocks that had gathered to the side of the building. He crouches down and peeks his head out to see. “How?”

 

_ Clench your fist and call forth a small amount, then let it scatter. _

 

He forms a fist easily in one hand, but the small amount is tricky. Somehow he manages, feels the heat in his hand, and lets his fist uncurl harshly, releasing little flickers of green light into the air and in front of the building.

 

The robber pauses, halts in their tracks, as they’re surrounded by the glowing specks.

 

_ Now snap your fingers. _

 

He does, the sound audible enough for the thief’s eyes to catch his. And then the specks erupt.

 

_ Ah _ , he thinks.  _ Fireflies. _

 

It doesn’t take much to sweep his hand out, calling the scrambled flames away from the area and in a sweep towards him, and then dashing them out, leaving only a trail of sparks lingering in the air. Their pursuit is on the ground, but Sabo can only make out minimal damage sustained.

 

_ Good. You’re getting better at this. _

 

“It’s only because of your help,” he mumbles, not ready to accept the praise.

 

_ We’re a team now, Sabo. And I can’t control you. Give yourself some credit. _

 

He blinks. Shakes his head. “Right.” A thin breath leaves his mouth as he wanders over to the criminal, unconscious. “Thanks, Ace.”

 

\--

 

The building he enters is, in a word, posh. He feels immediately out of place. The secretary seated to his left seems to agree, looking at him sternly over the edge of her glasses. 

 

“How can I help you, sir.” Her voice sounds anything but welcoming.

 

He clears his throat, swallowing down his apprehension. “Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Newgate.”

 

“You need an appointment for that.”

 

Wow. Not even the nerve to check. She wasn’t wrong, though. He frowns, suddenly very wary of this way of doing things. But he’s already here, so there’s no point in backing down now.

 

“It’s about Firefist.”

 

She raises a brow. “He is under this company, correct.”

 

He tries again. “It’s about Ace.”

 

That gets her attention. Identities were a secret for a reason, after all.

 

 

Whitebeard gazes at the man seated before him with a carefulness he hasn’t bothered with for a long time now. He takes in his clothes, not ratty by any means, but not looking like great purchases either. His hair, wild and light and unkempt, framing stark blue eyes that can’t focus, flicking around the room. He watches as shoes twitch, legs threatening to bounce in place, and takes the time to think how his student would be acquainted personally with someone so skittish.

 

“So,” he begins, his timbre catching the boy’s attention. “You’ve come to discuss Ace.”

 

The boy -Sabo, his mind supplies, that’s what he had been told- nods, a jerky motion, and then stills, lips screwing up. His gaze falters.

 

“No, not like that,” he hisses.

 

Whitebeard lifts his brows, confused. “Pardon?”

 

Those eyes flick back to him for a moment, acknowledging, before moving away. “That’s stupid and not going to work. Just let me explain my way.” A moment of silence. “You’re not being fair.”

 

Sabo shuffles in his seat, head turned towards Whitebeard once more. “I’m ignoring you now.”

 

He purses his lips at the words, but Sabo holds up a hand, and then is quick to apologize, explaining how none of that was directed at him.

 

And then he dives straight to the point.

 

“Ace isn’t missing. He’s dead.”

 

Whitebeard can’t help it, his eyes widening. It just happens. He’s been in the business a long time, and surprises are common, meeting the unexpected second nature. But some things still hit hard. Like this.

 

Sabo continues. “The house was attacked, some villain came in with a team. He fought them, but . . .” he falls silent, lips pursing for a couple hard moments. “After, they took his body.”

 

His eyes are narrowed, too many uncertainties hanging around for his liking. “Ace lived outside the city, in relative solitude. How-”

 

“It’s been his house for as long as it’s been mine.”

 

And understanding finally dawns on Whitebeard’s face. “So you were there.”

 

Sabo looks away. “It happened at night. Everything went to chaos so fast, and most of the time I was conscious I was very lucid. But I do remember the fire.” He whispers the last bit, the last couple words, then brings a fist to press against his mouth. His fingers are trembling.

 

“He tried to fight them off. Then, when he realized there wasn’t much hope, he did everything he could to get me out.” Sabo shakes his head. “I don’t remember most of it. I don’t even know if I really got out with his help, in the end.” He takes in a shuddering breath. His voice is quiet.

 

“I think, he figured, the only way to get me out alive was to give me immunity to the fire. So he . .” Sabo shakes his head. Then he turns to look Whitebeard directly in the eye. “He gave me his powers, somehow.” To prove it, he tugs off one of the gloves on his hand and a moment later a finger is on fire, the flame dancing in the air. A moment after that, the flame has risen several feet, a burning inferno, and Sabo gasps in protest, shaking his hand until it disperses and slipping the glove back on. He glances at Whitebeard nervously. “I’m still getting used to it.”

 

He leans back in his chair, a bit dumbfounded. Transferring powers? Such a thing was unheard of.

 

Sabo sighs. “Also, um . . That’s not all.” It’s silent for a moment, a gesture to continue. “He also . . well he . . um . . . hissoulisinme.”

 

He blinks. “Repeat that slower.”

 

“His soul . .” Sabo reaches to tap at his chest, twice. “It’s in me. His voice is in my mind. He’s been helping me.”

 

That . . was troubling, but it also made a little more sense, despite it still being far out there. A soul and a power inhabiting a new body made more sense than a power transferring over completely separate.

 

But this was still insane.

 

“Right. He wants me to ask, well . .” Sabo lets out a deep breath. “He wants me to take his place. To be Firefist.”

 

In a moment of pure scrutiny, Whitebeard tips forward to rest his weight on the desk, eyeing Sabo thoughtfully. After several moments, he voices his thoughts. “You look remarkably similar to him. We might could make this work.”

 

\--

 

He stares into the cracked mirror, eyes blown wide, and one hand holding his weight by the edge of the sink. The lightbulb flickers overhead; he doesn’t notice.

 

It truly is strange, what good dye can do. His light hair was now jet black, and it shook him to his core, how right Newgate had been. Guess living together meant conforming with each other’s hairstyles, though he certainly hadn’t bothered to notice ever before.

 

They had dotted freckles onto his cheeks, on the bridge of his nose, as a test. The test had passed. He could see why.

 

His steady hand trembles and tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinks them away, breathing out a cry, and then both hands are leaning on the sink. His forehead presses to the mirror, unbothered by the large line running down it, and the light flickers again.

 

He stares into blue eyes, but if he pictures them grey, then it truly is Ace in the mirror, and the full weight of what he’s doing sets in at that moment, who he’s about to pretend to become, and he chokes out another sob before letting his head fall, scalp pressed to the glass, and lets himself go.

 

His cries are sharp and distraught, echoing in the tiny bathroom. Soon enough, his legs can’t hold him anymore, and he falls, and his cheeks press to the door as he leans heavily against it, curling up. He looks like Ace. There’s no going back. Ace is gone and Sabo isn’t Sabo, now morphed as a lookalike to the one person that had been left in his life. He’ll have to live every day now looking into the mirror and seeing his dead lover gaze back at him.

 

The light flickers out. He thinks he sleeps on the bathroom floor, that night.

 

\--

 

Sirens sound in the distance, nearing the scene. Sabo had contacted Newgate, who informed the authorities and sent another member of their agency to play public relations. After checking again to make sure the criminal really is just unconscious, Sabo heads out. 

 

Firefist is no longer allowed to speak with police, or give streetside interviews, or even reassure victims. His voice is the only thing that was still Sabo, after all.

 

_ And your weakass figure. _

 

“Shut it,” he grumbles, stumbling. “I’m tired.”

 

His new flat is in the city. It’s small, and a bit rundown, but he loves it. 

 

That’s a lie. It was terrible but it was cheap. It was what he had acquired. 

 

It takes three times before the key turns in the lock and the door creaks open. Sabo stumbles to the old couch in the middle of the room, collapsing onto it and shutting his eyes. He was exhausted after the chase, body still not up to standards despite the training he’d been put through. 

 

_ You should shower, at least. _

 

“Sleep,” Sabo groans. A laugh sounds in his head.

 

_ Okay. Goodnight. _

 

Soon after darkness takes over, flames rush to fill the void. The crackling sounds in his ears.

 

“Teach,” he scowls, voice deep. He’s bent over, panting. A booming laugh echoes off the walls, coming from a hulking figure a few yards away. 

 

“It was hard to find you out in the middle of nowhere. There’s even a car out front. I didn’t know you could drive.”

 

Ace, he realizes, abrupt and sudden. This was Ace. He was seeing through Ace’s eyes. The car was Sabo’s.

 

The man was Teach.

 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he -Ace- says. “Why are you here, destroying my home?”

 

_ Our home _ , Sabo thinks.

 

Teach shrugs. “Figured it was time to finally kill you. You’re getting in my way, after all. Catching on is fine until someone figures it out. Then you’re screwed.” His lips turn up. “Like now.”

 

Ace roars and rips his arm forward, a curtain of flames following the motion and slamming into Teach -or would’ve, had they not been swallowed by the darkness surrounding his form. The same nasty laughs bellows out again.

 

“This is your grave, Firefist! You can’t out me if you’re dead, after all!”

 

A few figures appear to flank Teach, all the backlight casting them in shadow. They cackle and snarl all the same, and then they pounce all at once, darkness thick, everything black.

 

Sabo sees his own eyes, flickering and unfocused, as Ace gazes down at him. They were moving, slowly. 

 

“If I can get you out, they won’t know you’re here. They won’t come after you,” Ace whispers. 

 

His pulse picks up. What.

 

“Not like everything isn’t destroyed anyways.” Ace laughs. It’s a pathetic attempt. “As far as anyone can tell now, I’m the only one living here. You’re safe, Sabo. You’ll be safe now.”

 

Safe.

 

“They’re leaving soon. I’m not conscious anymore so I can’t control the fire. You’ll have to do it.” His lips screw up. “But you’ll be okay. I’ll be here.” His voice cracks. “I’ll always be here.”

 

He wakes with a gasp, eyes bursting open, chest heaving, legs curling to his chest. Everything is dark. He gets to his feet, stumbles from the wave of dizziness that overcomes him, and makes his way to the lightswitch on the wall, still breathing deeply. 

 

The light comes on and he collapses to the hard floor, very tired. 

 

There was no way he was sleeping again tonight.

 

\--

 

“Ah!” He flaps his hand, shaking off the flames and continuing the motion long after they disperse. “Does control really have to be the first thing I learn?”

 

_ Control is everything. I had those powers all my life. You’ve had them for little more than a week.  _

 

“Fine, fine.” He sighs. “Can I take a break?”

 

_ Yeah, sure. _

 

There was amusement in that tone, but Sabo collapses to the ground without thinking much of it. The sun beats down from above, warming his skin. It’s odd that there’s no longer heat to the flames. 

 

_ Once you’re more used to it, we can go talk to Whitebeard. _

 

Right. Then there was that. This was crazy, but Sabo chose to go along with it, not able to deny anything to the detached soul in his body. He heaves himself up.

 

“Still not excited about that,” he mutters. “But, back to work. Firefist has to make a return, after all.”

 

If Newgate believed him, he would be damn lucky. But right now, he had other worries. His shoulder catches fire and he yelps, trying to pat it down.

 

Other worries.

 

\--

 

The couch more often than not became their resting place, Ace coming in late and drained and Sabo trailing behind, equally as tired from long hours of a mediocre job. The couch was closer than their shared bed.

 

Sabo wakes to early morning, pale light streaming in from a pane of windows. A hand is tangled in his hair, running through the strands. He leans into it, breathes out a sigh. Closes his eyes again.

 

A hum of amusement pulls them back open. Ace is pressed to the back cushions, holding them securely to avoid a tumble off the side. His eyes meet Sabo’s, sunlight dappling off the grey. 

 

“Morning,” he rasps, voice thick from sleep. Sabo blinks, still tired. It was the weekend. He was off, then. But . . Ace’s hours could be irregular.

 

Instead of a proper response, he buries his head back to the crook of Ace’s neck, quietly shushing him. They could sleep for longer. 

 

A soft laugh catches by his ears, cut off when a low humming sounds through the room. He tenses, knowing what it meant. Ace’s hand stills in his hair, and then slides out, moving to his pocket where his phone buzzed.

 

After a couple mumbled words, Ace slumps over Sabo, burying him, and lets the phone slip from his grasp to the floor. Sabo groans in protest.

 

“Wasn’t the office,” Ace drones, voice barely above a whisper. “School. Not important.”

 

That was certainly a first. He’d run out of fingers to count the times their mornings had been interrupted by crime reports, Ace rushing off to some sector of the city and Sabo rudely awakened and left very alone. It was quiet in the house. They lived out in the middle of nowhere.

 

School. Right. The semester was drawing to a close. Things were due to get busier. 

 

Ace shifts on top of him and Sabo groans, pushing back. There was at least an extra seventy pounds of muscle Ace had on him, and the weight was crushing.

 

With more effort than he thought he’d expend that morning, he hoists himself onto his elbows and bucks Ace off, body slamming to the floor and just avoiding the low table. Sabo slumps back to the couch, boneless, when he realizes there wasn’t a noise of complaint from the other.

 

And that’s when the hand snakes to his form and drags him down, and Sabo’s tumbling into Ace’s side, breath catching.

 

“Asshole,” he grumbles. Ace laughs. 

 

He shivers slightly. It was cold on the floor. Arms wrap around him, pressing him closer to Ace, and he hums in content.

 

“I’ll be your furnace.”

 

“Thanks, love.”

 

\--

 

It’s late, and the moon is dark. He can’t even see his hands when he stuffs them into his jacket pockets. His breath is foggy in front of him. It’s cold enough to wear jeans now, but he still has to train in sweats. Easier to move around in.

 

He left everything at the office that day, trip home easier without a bag to carry. Home. No, that wasn’t right.

 

How many months had it been now. No one had noticed the change, which was perfect and also suffocating, for everyone to believe he was Ace. Sabo had dropped out of grad school. Sabo had practically dropped off the map. His full time job was now being Firefist. 

 

Every couple of weeks he’d get his roots dyed by the office staff. The freckles didn’t matter much anymore. No one got close enough to notice them missing. Newgate took care of the apartment, which was nice of him. He hadn’t had elsewhere to go, with the house burned down and all.

 

A rustling to his left makes him look up, down the thin street. He realizes he can’t see his breath anymore. Complete darkness.

 

Then a hand wraps around his throat, and he’s thrown into a wall, pressed there and barely able to gasp for air. His fingers claw at the hand, but it’s in vain. He can’t even make out who’s before him, just a disembodied laugh echoing all around.

 

“‘Ce,” he croaks. “A-ce!”

 

Nothing.

 

The laugh gets higher. “Looks like we finally found the soul to destroy with the body. Boy, you have no idea how much of a pain it was, to realize we just had a hollow shell. To still see Firefist roaming the streets.” The voice is closer now. He tries clawing at the hand again but it’s nonexistent, and his nails attack his throat instead, making him choke with pain. “Not for much longer, though.”

 

\--

 

_ Sabo! SABO!! Answer me! They can’t get you, not like this. Come on, Sabo! Please! _

 

He registers the screaming, but he’s too far gone to do anything about it. The figure is still laughing at him. Did he pass out? Was he still in the alley? There was still something wrapped against his throat, pinning him in place, but the scratches he’d inflicted hold him back from trying anything again. 

 

When he runs out of air, he passes out. 

  
  


 

“ _ -clearly a sign of struggle-” _

 

He jerks his head up, eyes staring at a fuzzy television screen. A news report is playing loudly. The image is an alleyway, one side baked to cinders. His earlier encounter rushes back to focus. Did he do that? Wait -where was he?

 

The screen flickers off, Sabo’s ears ringing in the absence of noise. 

 

“You sure put up a fight. Cost me a man, too.”

 

He jerks his head to see a figure in the corner of the room. Involuntarily, his form shakes. He recognizes the man as Teach. The one who killed Ace. His breath catches deep in his throat. He tests his hands, bound and pinned to the wall. A bar is over his throat, further pinning him. He feels another bar against his thighs. 

 

He was stuck.

 

Teach wanders over, his ambling gait absolutely terrifying. He stops barely a foot in front of Sabo, sneering. “Wasn’t much effort after the initial shock, though. Ace would’ve put up more of a fight. Ace would’ve done better.”

 

He realizes, faintly, that Ace was silent. 

 

“Y’know, it was such a shock to see the man I’d just killed running around, still playing superhero. I knew the body I had was very much the real deal. But the flames, ah, those also were real. So something had happened.” He shrugs. “Here’s the deal, kid. If we wanna kill Ace’s soul now, we have to kill the host body.” A finger presses to his chest and Sabo squirms back, still not daring to breathe. “That means you.”

 

He turns back, wanders a few feet away. “But this is no longer as simple as it was before. My plans are ready. And what better way to unveil the villain Blackbeard than by putting up a show in killing a famed hero? There’s no more murder from the shadows.” He turns back to Sabo, grinning.  “That chance has now passed.”

 

\--

 

Teach shuts off the light as he leaves. As soon as the door bangs shut, as soon as Sabo is alone, he gasps in breaths, and then he’s crying, and his hand is sparking. He’s terrified, he’s failed Ace. They were both going to die. He couldn’t keep either of them alive. Firefist was going to die.

 

He lets himself sob freely, knowing once it all passed, he’d be able to think more clearly. It takes a while for his tears to quell, and his hand sparks a few more times as his emotions get the better of him. 

 

When he’s finally settled down, he’s no longer alone.

 

_ Hang in there, Sabo. _

 

“Ace!” he whispers, fierce and frightened. 

 

_ I’m right here. And I have a plan. Listen, my body is still around. I can feel it. If we can get to it, there’s a way I can transfer my soul back. _

 

His eyes widen. “W-Wha . .”

 

_ It’s not definite, but it’s worth trying. _

 

“What happens if you fail?”

 

_ I don’t know. _

 

Sabo is silent for a long time. Then, he inhales, deep, and locks his jaw. “I’ll try.”  _ I can’t lose you. _ “We can try.”  _ What if you’re gone for good, after? _

 

“How do I get out?”

 

_ They underestimated you. You can heat the bars enough to bend them off, just be careful. Probably figured if you got out, there were too many around for you to escape anyhow.  _ A chuckle sounds through Sabo’s head.  _ Not with me guiding you. _

 

\--

 

He’s on the ground in a heap, grasping at his wrists. A band of blisters decorated them, and they hurt. His clothes hadn’t fared well either, burned off where the bars had pressed into his jacket and jeans. But he was out.

 

Getting through the door wasn’t much trouble. The hallway he entered into was barren. Ace directed him where it felt right, somehow able to sense the pull of his body. Sabo didn’t question it.

 

When they ran into their first person, Ace had him pull back his fist and call forth flames, slamming down a fiery punch that sent the goon flying.

 

He took off after that, darting through the hallways at the sound of angered voices. Ace had him stop in front of an open room, and he moves inside to see Ace’s body on a table just inside. He blanches, stumbles back.

 

_ Wait, no, I need to be near it. It’s okay, Sabo! _

 

“It’s  _ not _ -” His reply is cut off by a foot pressing to his back, knocking him to the floor and into the table. 

 

“There you are! Damn, you have some serious problems, willing to burn yourself like that. Good thing we’re ready. Pick him up!”

 

“Is this close enough,” he rasps, face still pressed to the ground. Arms haul him up. No reply comes. He’s pulled back from the table and his head snaps up. “Ace!”

 

“Restrain him.”

 

“Ace!” No answer. His eyes flick to the body, unmoving. No.

 

He’s blindfolded, knocked roughly against a wall.

 

It hadn’t worked.

 

Ace was gone.

 

\--

 

The blindfold is pulled off and Sabo gasps as the cityscape looms below him. He was on a roof. There was a camera rolling beside Teach, who grins upon seeing his stupefied expression. He says something to the camera that Sabo doesn’t process, eyes now locked to the body beside him. Ace’s body.

 

“This is the day Firefist dies! Both the old and new version.”

 

He can’t move his hands. Teach continues his speal and Sabo can only watch Ace, watch as he remains unmoving. His vision blurs. It really hadn’t worked. And now he was alone.

 

And now he was Sabo. Ordinary. Without powers. Helpless.

 

A gun cocks and he looks up just as Teach fires, a gasp leaving him as the bullet enters his sternum. It cocks again, ready for another shot, and then flies out of his grubby hands.

 

His eyes move to the right. Ace’s body is gone. A helicopter sounds above, voice through a loudspeaker calling something. Floodlights pour onto the area. Multiple people flit in and out of focus. 

 

He stares into grey eyes. Cold hands cup his cheeks. They weren’t cold, though, he realizes. Just less warm than he was used to.

 

“Sabo.” Ace speaks softly. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”

 

He lets his jaw fall open. This . . was this real?

 

“Sabo, listen. I’m going to untie you. There’s something we still need to do.”

 

He’s barely listening, lost in those grey eyes. How long had it been since he’d seen them? He thinks he nods. Ace helps him stand and there’s a weight on his chest. He sputters. Blood dribbles down his chin. Ace curses, low.

 

His hand is lifted, then pointed at a figure. He’s leaned heavily against Ace now, only standing due to his support. “Listen, Sabo. It’s your power now. You can do this.”

 

He doesn’t understand until sparks leave his outstretched palm. Oh. But how  . . ? He turns his eyes to Ace. That didn’t make sense. 

 

Ace smiles down at him. “I don’t know,” he answers, and Sabo realizes he’s spoke aloud. 

 

For once, when he shoots a spew of fire at the last opponent, he has perfect control.

 

Ace’s praise is lost as he collapses, the blood loss too great.

 

\--

 

There’s a form pressed to his side. He’s lying on his back. His head feels fuzzy.

 

He tries to sit up but a pain in his chest makes him stop. Then the form is moving, black hair lifting and grey eyes meeting his.

 

“You’re awake,” Ace breathes.

 

Sabo doesn’t breathe at all. This was real. This was happening.

 

“You’re alive.” He chokes when he says it.

 

Ace nods, moves to sit up, then carefully wraps Sabo in a hug. “We both are. We’re both okay.”

 

Sabo’s arms tighten around him. “I missed you.”

 

“I was always here.”

 

“Not like this,” he mumbles, pressing his face to Ace’s neck. A chuckle sounds by his ears.

 

“Whitebeard came with his crew, cleaned the place up. Everything is fine. Teach is locked up. Your surgery went well. The staff was so surprised, seeing Firefist and a very injured Firefist-without-freckles. Someone asked if we were twins.”

 

“I hate the hair dye,” Sabo mutters.

 

“That’s fine. We can strip it off later. It won’t be the same, but it’ll be blonde again.” Lips press to Sabo’s forehead, and then he’s lowered carefully back to the bed. “You should rest more. You’ve been through a lot.”

 

He shivers at the loss of contact. “Cold.”

 

Ace laughs. It’s soft and mellow, and Sabo loves it. “Nothing much I can do. You’re the furnace now.”

 

That was right.

 

He stops to think.

 

Yes, that was right.

 

\--

 

Their place isn’t as perfect as before, but it was nice.

 

What really made it were the people who filled it.

 

Sabo groans as he opens his eyes to the television switched on, a reporter talking about the retirement of Firefist. Again. Behind him, Ace’s laugh rumbles his form. 

 

“Give them time. They have to adapt to an old favorite leaving  _ and _ someone new taking his place.”

 

Like he could forget. His face flashes onto the screen next, a brief interview he’d given the other day playing back. Sabo turns away.

 

“Hummm. You’re warm,” Ace muses. Soft curls caress Sabo’s cheek. He can’t help how his lips quirk up.

 

Sabo wasn’t quite so ordinary anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @cheswirl ; commissions open
> 
> i couldn't concentrate on outlining bc my mind was complete saboace, so i wrote this to get it out of my system. i figured it's a rare enough pairing to use more content, so. here you go.


End file.
